My Name Is Hermione
by notlistening
Summary: What if Hermione wasnt a witch, and never attended Hogwarts? one-shot. no slash


_A/N- this story has nothing to do with magic or hogwarts, I hope you all like it anyways . Review and enjoy loves! One-shot, no slash_

**Disclaimer- I do not own anything except the plot **

CHAPTER 1:

My name is Hermione, and I really don't like school. I know what your thinking, everyone hates school, but as I stare at the fading scars and new scabs on my forearms I think, does your school drive you to cut your own flesh? Sometimes I just want to stand up in the middle of class and scream myself hoarse, but I stay seated firmly in my seat like a good girl, awaiting the blessed bell. But why wait for the bell when all I would come home to is an angry mother in a messy run down house? I guess being alone is better than being obviously ignored. No one ever talks to me at school because everyone thinks I am a freak. It is very hard to hide the cuts on my arms and the large purple bruises on my legs from my mom pushing me down the stairs. But no one even tries to talk to me, or to meet the real me. I'm pretty funny you know, I just don't get any opportunities to show it off.  
I don't really know why I cut myself. I guess it's just because I have a minimal amount of control over my life, and this is something I can control. Or maybe it's because I feel like it's my fault that my life sucks so much and that I have to be punished. Here I am sitting on the end of my bed, pondering the same questions as the night before and again not coming to a conclusion. I run my hand through my greasy hair and decide that it needs to be washed. Homework can wait until later, it's not like the teachers bother to check anymore.  
I reluctantly pull myself off my bed and wade through the sea of clothing and junk towards my door. The bathrooms smells like an outhouse because my mother got really drunk last night and was messing herself and getting it all over the floor. Obviously she's never going to clean it so I proceed downstairs to grab the mop and pail.  
Apparently I chose a bad moment to go downstairs because my mom is in the kitchen, and as soon I step foot in it she starts screeching at the top of her lungs, throwing insults and rude comments my way. I have learned to tune her out but I can't ignore the stinging pain on my face as she continuously slaps and punches me. That's it, I've had enough. I grab her forearms and slam her into the wall and scream,  
"LEAVE ME ALONE!".   
Breathing heavily she stares at me in bewilderment, and for a flicker of a moment I feel triumph, that is until she grabs the steaming hot iron off of the ironing board and aims a blow at my head. I feel blood and searing pain. The redness is clouding my vision, as well as a sudden darkness. I feel faint and all the sound is leaving, as though it's being sucked out of my ears. My hands direct my body to a safe place to lay on the floor as my mind slowly shuts down as I black out. The last thing I am thinking before the darkness consumes me is,  
" Maybe I'll never wake up again."  
And then darkness.

I wake up in a pool of blood and a blinding pain raking my skull. My stomach churns as the pain fully registers and I vomit all over the blood stained floor. I try to sit up but the pain is just too much and I lay in the puddle of sick and blood until I can take it no more. Forcing myself, I succeed in sitting upright, and then slowly to standing. My brain isn't working properly so I cannot decide what I should do about my head. I can't call the police, my mother will just beat me to death. The only thing I can do is clean myself up, despite the pain and the nagging worry of brain damage. I force my shaking legs up the stairs, which have suddenly doubled in size. Groaning as I put another step behind me I finally make it to the top and into the bathroom. My head is pounding so much I can't even see out of my eyes. I take a towel from the rack and feel around for the taps to turn on the sink, and letting it run cold. An extremely sharp pain in my head makes my knees give out and I fall down. A single tear trickles down my cheek and I wipe it away hastily. I can't cry, I just can't or else all my emotions will come out and I will not be able to control it. I will go crazy.  
The sink is now overflowing because the towel is blocking the drain. I barely notice the cold water dripping onto my head. Drip, drip, drip. The water is stinging my wound. I finally gather the courage to touch the open cut. I cringe as I prod and poke it, and decide that maybe touching it is not a good idea. My headache is getting worse, so I grab the towel out of the sink and place it carefully over the gash in my head. It stings at first but the coolness of the water soothes it. I hobble into my room and fall on my bed, feeling as though I had run a mile. I was sweating so profusely that I had to maneuver my sweater off without doing anymore damage. My eyelids are so heavy that even though the pain is still coursing through me I close them and fall asleep.  
I awake from the sunshine shining through my half-closed eyelids. The pain has dulled a little and my sight is almost back to normal, although still blurry. My hair is matted down from the blood that has dried, and my face is crusty with it. I look at my clock and see that it is 1:37 pm. Crap, I'm late for school. I groan out of frustration and then it hits me like a thousand bricks.  
An insane feeling of loneliness and sadness runs through my body and I feel these tears streaming down my face and I am powerless to stop it. I am screaming in anguish and pain that isn't from my head but from deep down in the shadowy corners of my being and soul. My small body is shaking with hysterical sobs and my throat is raw from my screams. I am thrashing around on my bed, trying to get this feeling out of me but it only gets stronger and stronger the more that the tears stream down my cheeks. I can taste salty tears mingled with blood in my mouth, and I hate it. No, I hate being so alone. Why me! WHY ME! Did God put me on this earth for a reason and did I screw it all up? As quickly as it came, the loneliness disappears once again into the depths of my body.  
I lay on my comforter breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling. I just don't understand, I really don't. I don't understand why, when there were so many people in the world, did I have to endure such pain and neglect. The wheels in my head are turning, and all this thinking is making my head hurt again. I squeeze my eyes closed and some remaining tears leak out the sides. The same questions I always ask myself are filling my head once again, but I push them out. I don't want to think or feel, I want to be numb to everything. A thought pushes itself passed my barrier and reveals itself.  
_Why live?_

I always thought I had a reason to live, that things would get better, but after enduring 16 years of torture it seems that there is no light at the end of the tunnel. It feels as though life is just a continuous cycle, going around and around and getting worse every turn and curve. I look around my room and I try to find a good reason to stay among the living and not give into the invitations of death. Many a time have I crossed that path, the path almost every adolescent girl goes through. The path of suicidal thoughts and attempts. Now as I lay here trying to grasp onto any reason to stay alive, the idea of suicide seems less and less scary.  
Mind made up, I heave myself up off my bed and, swaying slightly, go into the washroom. Trying not to smell the unholy stench of my mother's mess I grab her headache pills out of the cabinet above the sink. I carefully line all the pills in the bottle along the sink. I pour myself a glass of water. Despite the circumstances I am surprisingly calm, at peace with myself. I feel as though I am in a daze as I bring the first pill to my lips and pop it into my mouth. The water easily washes it down my throat as I reach for another. I freeze as I hear the phone ring. Should I answer it? No, there's no point, it's not like it will be for me. Though I still am frozen in place, staring at the telephone which is hanging on the wall outside of the bathroom. Something inside of me was telling me to pick up the phone and speak into the receiver. No, Hermione, don't pick it up.  
My hand inches towards the next pill as another ring sounds through out the house. I pick up the pill and put it into my mouth and swallow, as well as with the next and the next. The phone keeps ringing as I continue to pop the pills into my mouth and swallow, and finally I cannot stand it any longer. I lunge at the phone just as the answering machine is about to pick up and croak into the phone a small,  
"Hello?"  
"Hello? Is this Hermione?" says a worried voice, " this is the guidance counselor from the school calling to see if you are ok".  
I feel as thought I am going to cry. A warm sensation travels from my fingertips to my toes as I replay the soft, kind words in my head again.  
"Ms. Jensen", I reply," Yes I am alright".  
But then I think, am I really alright?  
"Actually Ms. Jensen, I am not alright, can you please help me," I sob into the telephone, relieved to finally have someone to help me.

_The End_

A/N- I hoped you all enjoyed it, I live for reviews so PLEASE review! Love you all


End file.
